


Love Me Blindly

by tiny_septic_box_sam



Series: Angst Fics [3]
Category: JackSepticEye (YouTube RPF), Markiplier (YouTube RPF), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Car Accident, Injury, M/M, multi-chapter, possible trigger warning, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-08 21:05:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4320690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiny_septic_box_sam/pseuds/tiny_septic_box_sam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was all a horrible mistake. The car had come from the right. He’d been speeding, but Jack had run the red light, so how was he supposed to know to slow down? There wasn’t even time to scream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Major Character Injury
> 
> Based on this prompt by otpprompts:  
> Imagine that Person A becomes blind through some sort of accident (or has always been that way). Strangely enough however, they can see Person B perfectly, as if they weren’t blind at all.

            It had all been a horrible mistake.

            Neither of them had even been drunk; for fuck’s sake, they hadn’t so much as looked at alcohol at all that day. They’d gone to the movies, just to get away from the apartment for a few hours, since they’d been so cooped up all week long. After the movie had ended, they’d decided to pick up something to eat at home.

            They’d been discussing the movie, the ridiculous plot of it. Mark was laughing in the passenger seat as he recalled the horrible acting in the love scenes. The radio was blaring one of Jack’s old Black Sabbath albums. The car smelled deliciously of a freshly prepared supreme pizza, and both of their mouths were watering.

            Jack was driving down a commercialized street back to their apartment; at this time of night, there were very few cars on the road. As he approached an intersection, he glanced over to see that Mark had already started digging in, unable to wait any longer. He bit into a gooey slice of goodness, hot cheese dribbling down his chin like a toddler’s.

            “Hey, c’mon now!” Jack laughed. “Don’t eat it all before we get home!”

            “Want a bite?” Mark asked flirtatiously, his mouth full of food. Jack nodded, and as he approached a stoplight, he leaned in and bit into his slice of pizza, his mouth filling with the taste of deep-fried heaven and enamored by the brightness of Mark’s brown eyes.

            It had all been such a horrible, horrible mistake.

 

            The car had come from the right. He’d been speeding, but Jack had run the red light, so how was he supposed to know to slow down?

            Jack felt the impact of a wrecking ball ram into the side of the car.

            There wasn’t even time to scream.

            They careened to the side, the car toppling onto its side. Jack’s head was mere inches from the pavement. Glass flew everywhere from everywhere: the windshield, the windows, the mirrors. Broken bits of glass were raining from the sky.

            Jack felt a second impact from the roof, which was now to his right, and the crunch jarred him and shoved him roughly into unconsciousness. Later, he’d discover that the car had bowled into a hotel, destroying the exterior corner (but, by some miracle, not flying into the lobby).

            He’d discover a lot of things later, and none of them would be pleasant.

            But at that moment, he didn’t know anything. All he knew was glass was raining from the heavens, and just like that, he was unconscious.


	2. Welcome to the ICU

            Jack was awoken by the pounding in his head. It ached like a motherfucker, and he groaned in pain.

            “Mark, I need Tylenol, _now_ ,” he whined deliriously. He got no answer. “ _Maaaark_ , wake up….” He batted blindly to his right, trying to find Mark sleeping next to him, but his hand hit the hollow metal of a guardrail.

            Jack’s stomach dropped. That was _definitely_ not right. He opened his eyes and hissed in pain; god _damn_ , the room was bright. Was he drinking last night? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember anything from yesterday, actually. That was worrisome.

            Jack looked over, squinting, and realized that he was in a white twin bed with metal guardrails on either side. He looked over and could see a mediocre TV bolted to the wall. The window behind him was blurred so that he couldn’t see out and others couldn’t see in, and the blankets that covered him were blue and stiff.

            “Am I in a hospital?” Jack grumbled, trying to sit up. He moved his right arm and immediately felt a bolt of searing hot pain travel from his shoulder all the way down his spine. He cried out in pain.

            When he tugged on that arm, he felt another flash of intense pain, and he looked to see that it was wrapped in tough gauze and in a blue sling. His brow furrowed in puzzlement. He’d broken his arm? _When_?!

            The memories came back slowly as Jack struggled to recall anything from the previous night. He and Mark had gone on a date of some kind…had they seen a play? No, it was a movie, that was certain…and they’d been driving home…they’d stopped to get dinner…it was Chinese— _no_ , it was pizza, definitely…and Mark had taken a bite and given Jack one too….

            The crash came back: the shower of broken glass, the sickening crunching of the car, the roof caving in over Jack’s head and slamming him into unconsciousness. He groaned at the memory of it, how horrific it was; he couldn’t even remember a specific event of the trauma, just a horrible, flashing pain, and glimmering spears of glass assailing him from all sides.

            Oh, God; that meant someone must’ve called an ambulance while Jack was unconscious. Had it been Mark? He struggled to remember how he’d fared in the crash, but concentrating too hard made his head throb painfully. He clutched his forehead and groaned in pain.

            The door across the room, and a woman poked her head in. “Oh, you’re awake?” she said in confusion. “Did your pain medicine wear off?”

            Jack’s head snapped up in surprise. “Wait, who’re you?” he croaked, suddenly realizing he was parched.

            “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m your nurse. You can call me Tiffany.” She stepped into the room and picked up Jack’s wrist, taking his pulse. “You seem like you’re okay. Does your head hurt?”

            “Uh…yeah, hurts like hell. What’s wrong with me?”

            “Your shoulder’s been fractured, and you suffered a concussion,” she told him matter-of-factly, “but you’re fine otherwise. Your seatbelt saved you from most major damage. You’re lucky the car didn’t hit your side.”

            Well, that was good. The other car was going so fast, it probably did a lot of damage to the passenger side…

            The passenger side.

            _Mark’s_ side.

            “Holy shit,” Jack blurted suddenly. A thousand pound weight was suddenly dropped onto his chest, knocking the wind out of him. “Mark. Where’s Mark? He was in the car with me. Oh, God, please tell me he’s okay, please.” Tears stung at the corners of his eyes, and he couldn’t seem to get enough air in his lungs. If Mark had been killed…oh, God, no, the idea was unthinkable.

            She looked at him with trepidation and didn’t say anything, which made his stomach plummet straight through the floor.

            “You know what happened to him, don’t you?”

            She pursed her lips and gave Jack a prying look. He stared back at her helplessly.

            “Please,” he begged, and his voice cracked pitifully. “Please, tell me the truth. Is he okay?”

            She still didn’t answer, but she dropped her gaze. Jack’s heart splintered into a million pieces, and two tears streamed down his face.

            “He survived the crash,” Tiffany responded, her voice significantly quieter than it had been before. “But he…isn’t doing as well as you.”

            “Why not?” Jack demanded, not caring that his voice was shaking like a child’s. “What happened? What’s wrong? Oh, God, please tell me he’s going to be okay!”

            “He got out of emergency surgery a few hours ago,” she said in a tiny voice, her eyes wide with pity. “I don’t know how he fared, but—”

            Jack sat straight up, ignoring the stab of pain that wracked through his head and spine. “Take me to him,” he ordered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “I have to see him. Please, you have to take me to him.”

            Tiffany hesitated nervously, chewing her lower lip. “I’m not really allowed to do that, sir….”

            “Please, I’m begging you! I’m well enough to walk, see? And I’m a patient!”

            Tiffany gave him a long, hard look before asking pointedly, “Are you family? Because we can only let a patient’s family into the ICU.” She over-enunciated every syllable, making it painfully obvious that there was only one acceptable answer.

            Jack nodded quickly, even though it jarred his headache. “Yes, of course I am,” he lied through his teeth.

            Tiffany nodded covertly. “Good, because otherwise it’d be strictly against company policy, and I’d _lose my job_.”

            “Well, it’s a good thing I’m family then,” Jack said immediately.

            “It sure is.” Tiffany spun around and walked towards the door briskly, beckoning to him. “C’mon, we need to hurry. I don’t know if he’s due for a second surgery.”

            Jack jogged after her, despite the fact that every step sent a jolt of pain into his head. None of that mattered. He had to see Mark. He had to make sure he was okay.

            He had to know that this wasn’t his fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to rewrite most of this chapter because it didn't turn out like I wanted...but I think I like it now. :)
> 
> Constructive criticism is always appreciated!


	3. The Vengeful Corpse

            Tiffany led Jack up an elevator and down a hall full of doctors and nurses rushing back and forth. Each room they passed looked more dismal than the last: shriveled elderly people hooked up to dozens of tubes and wires, middle aged adults strapped into a breathing apparatus while children cried by their bedsides, the occasional young man or woman with twisted limbs and a neck brace with an older parent fretting in the chair opposite the bed.

            Jack’s heart was hammering. These people looked like they were on the verge of death. Dear Lord, if this is where they’d taken Mark…he couldn’t be in good shape.

            Tiffany walked down to the last room in the hall. She hesitated at the door, her hand wrapped tentatively around the doorknob. Jack sped past her and peered into the window.

            His heart plummeted three stories into the ground.

            Mark was lying in a bed unconscious, a fresh white bandage wrapped around his forehead. He was hooked to an IV drip, a heart monitor, and a breathing apparatus, all separately. They’d dressed him in a hospital gown, and one could glimpse more bandages wrapped around his chest where the fabric didn’t quite cover him. His exposed skin was covered in a spray of scabbed-over cuts from where the broken glass had pierced him, especially around his face and neck, and there was a large, distinctly bruised area across his forehead and down the right side of his face. He looked positively _mutilated_ ; his once-sculpted features were barely recognizable.

            “I tried to warn you,” Tiffany said weakly. “You can come inside.” She opened the door, and Jack shuffled in after her, feeling numb from the inside out.

            The inside of the room smelled like…well, like a hospital: the stale, clinical smell that people dread every time they visit the doctor. Jack already began losing composure as he approached the bed, leaning against the railing and staring at Mark in horror.

            “Oh, God…,” he croaked, reaching forward and taking his hand. He didn’t stir at all; he laid so motionlessly he almost looked dead. “Oh, dear God, Mark…what have I _done_ to you?” He bowed his head and felt tears begin to drip down his cheeks, clogging his throat, funneling down his neck. He couldn’t help it; he couldn’t do anything else. He was helpless.

            “Do you want me to look at his surgical analysis?” Tiffany asked quietly while Jack struggled in vain to regain his composure. “It’ll tell us exactly what’s wrong.”

            “Uh…y-yeah, sure, go ahead,” he answered thickly, wiping his cheeks. Resistance was futile; more tears followed, and he couldn’t stop them.

            Tiffany nodded and picked up a clipboard hanging on the side of his bed. “It says here…he’d suffered severe head trauma, most significantly to his forehead and supraorbital ridge, they suspect he suffered some kind of blunt force trauma that caused that…he was having trouble breathing, they discovered he had a few broken ribs and one of the bones had come close to puncturing his lung, thank goodness that didn’t happen…that appears to be it.”

            Jack was surprised. “That’s it? But he looks terrible!”

            Tiffany shrugged. “It looks like all they did in the surgery was reset his broken ribs so that he could breathe again,” she said matter-of-factly. “Most of our worries are speculation. There could be major complications with the head trauma he’s suffered, but we can’t know if he’s well or not until he wakes up.”

            “Okay…so when will he wake up?”

            “He’s on heavy pain medication right now, which should make him sleep for a while.” Tiffany stood up. “Speaking of which, we need to get you more yourself. I’m sure your head is hurting you.”

            It was, but Jack shook his head. “No, I’m fine. I want to stay here.” To prove his point, he crossed the room and sat purposefully in the chair opposite the bed, crossing his arms.

            Tiffany smiled a little, as though dealing with a petulant child. “If I know anything about the human body, it’s that no one recovers that quickly from a major concussion,” she said authoritatively. “Come with me, it’s nurse’s orders. Don’t make me call security.”

            Jack sighed and dropped his head. He wanted—no, _needed_ —to be there when Mark woke up. It wasn’t an option. He had to be the first to know if he was going to be okay.

            “But I….” Tiffany shut him down with a glare, and he groaned and replied, “ _Fine_.” She led him back to his own room, where he stood and stared obstinately at the bed, wondering if he could refuse to get in. Images of burly security officers holding him down while he was forcibly sedated chased that idea away.

            When Tiffany returned with two white pain pills, Jack took them without (verbal) complaint. It was easier to follow directions than go out of his way to disobey, and besides, his head really was hurting like hell. Within minutes of taking them he felt woozy, and he barely had time to stumble into his bed before sleep overtook him.

* * *

            _Jack was sitting in the passenger seat. It was very late at night, the sky like an inky blanket above him; there were no moon and stars out. The only light came from the car’s headlights and the infrequent streetlamp._

_Mark was driving, his hands gripping the wheel loosely, seemingly completely at ease despite the creepy atmosphere. He glanced at Jack with a mischievous grin._

_“It’s good to get out once in a while, isn’t it?” he asked in his deep, smooth voice. “I love being able to get out with my favorite guy.” He reached over and squeezed Jack’s hand affectionately, and while that would normally make him laugh, he felt inexplicably nervous._

_“Hey, hands on the wheel,” Jack scolded, recoiling slightly from Mark’s touch._

_Mark rolled his eyes and didn’t do as he was told. “C’mon, what’s your deal? We’re the only people out here.”_

_He was right about that; the road had been straight for miles, and Jack couldn’t see a single person—or even a building—anywhere beyond it._

_Far in the distance, Jack became aware of a noise. It was quiet, but it was growing steadily louder as it approached. He couldn’t see anything, but it was beginning to sound like a car horn._

_“Mark, do you hear that?” Jack asked, feeling suddenly anxious._

_Mark shrugged. “Hear what?”_

_“That car horn!” It was getting louder as he spoke; it sounded like it was only a few yards away now._

_Mark shook his head. “You’re imagining things, dude,” he snorted. “Stop being so friggin’ paranoid and just enjoy the evening, will ya?”_

_Jack couldn’t relax. The horn was almost upon them now, yet he still couldn’t see anything. “No. Something’s not right. Pull over.”_

_“Jack, seriously, would you relax?! You’re acting like a total—”_

_A demonic car from hell suddenly flew in from the darkness to Jack’s left, its headlights streaming and seemingly made of flames. Its jagged grille crunched into Jack’s side of the car, flattening the vehicle accordion-style, and he couldn’t help but shriek in terror._

_But somehow, the car missed him entirely. Jack knew he’d been sitting in the passenger seat, and presumably he should be very dead, but one minute he was sitting next to Mark about to be hit, and the next he was standing in the middle of the street completely unharmed._

_He watched as the two cars collided and barrel-rolled together. Jack ran after the wreckage, his heart pounding. Mark was still in there. What was happening to Mark?!_

_By the time Jack reached the two cars, they were no more than rusted-out hunks of metal that looked like they’d been sitting neglected on the side of the road for years. Jack’s heart pounded, and he felt sick to his stomach. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong._

_He inched around to the car that he presumed to be his and Mark’s and slowly knelt down to peer in the disfigured drivers-side window. Inside, to Jack’s unholy horror, was Mark’s rotting corpse. His skin was sallow and greenish and sagged limply off his brittle bones. His wasted arms were forever locked on the steering wheel, covered in his hair that had fallen out in clumps. Jack’s stomach lurched as a fat mealworm squirmed its way through his rotted smile._

_“Mark!” Jack screamed, as if shouting at a corpse could bring it back to life. Despite his disgust, he reached forward and grabbed its shoulder to shake it. “Mark, answer me!”_

_Suddenly, the corpse pitched forward and grabbed Jack’s throat, squeezing its bony fingers in tight. Mark’s deadened face twisted into unbound rage, as if he fully intended to rip out Jack’s throat with his teeth._

_“YOU DID THIS TO ME!” the corpse howled in a voice like Death’s. Jack screamed in terror and tried to back away, but Mark was too strong. He yanked him forward, his jaw unhinging like a reptile’s, as though he fully intended to swallow him whole—_

Jack shot up in the hospital bed, breathing harder than a marathon runner. His heart was pounding so hard he was afraid he might choke on it, and he leaned over, desperately trying to get some oxygen into his lungs.

            “Nightmare…nightmare…nightmare…,” he murmured to himself over and over until he began to believe it. It wasn’t real, it had all been some hellish torture chamber that his subconscious had invented. The thought didn’t help Jack to reaffirm his sanity, but it did make him feel less at risk of dying a horrible death.

            He remembered his condition with a jolt, and his heart sank. Throwing off the covers, he decided he needed to take a piss. He wondered if he should alert Tiffany or some other nurse, but he wasn’t bedridden; it wasn’t like he couldn’t be trusted to walk down a hall and relieve himself.

            He found the men’s room, did his business, and washed his hands. When he looked in the mirror, he stumbled back in shock. Good Lord, he looked like hell. He had a terrible-looking bruise on the side of his head that disappeared into his hair, as well as a split lip, a broken arm, and a large variety of cuts like Mark’s on his face, neck, and arms. He winced to think of what the scene must’ve looked like; the two of them had probably been bleeding all over the place. Dear God, this was a fine mess that had been created.

            The door to the bathroom opened, and a voice called, “Is there a Sean McLoughlin here?!”

            Jack was startled to hear his name. He walked towards the sound and found a doctor with glasses staring at him. “Yes, that’s me,” he answered uncertainly. “What’s wrong?”

            “We tried to find you, but you weren’t in your room,” the doctor replied, sounding breathless. “Nurse Elroy said to come find you when Mr. Fischbach awoke.”

            “Nurse Elroy…you mean Tiffany? Wait—Mark’s _awake_?!” Jack’s heart jumped straight into his throat.

            “Yes, just a few minutes ago. She requested that someone notify you straight away.”

            “Can I see him?” Jack begged, stepping closer to the doctor in desperation.

            “You can come up to the ICU, but you can’t go in until the doctors finish assessing him. Come with me.” He led him into the hall and up the same elevator to the ICU while Jack’s pulse whooshed in his ears.

            Mark was awake. That meant his brain worked fine and he wasn’t living off life support. That meant that this could maybe be fixed. That meant that everything could still be okay.

            Jack swallowed hard, trying to allow himself some hope. He needed it; dear God, he needed it.

* * *

            Once they reached the room, the doctor walked right in while Jack remained outside. There were three other doctors plus Tiffany inside, and all of them were obscuring his view; he couldn’t see Mark at all. He gritted his teeth in frustration and wished for nothing more than to be inside and hear what they were saying.

            The doctors shuffled in place while Tiffany scribbled things on a clipboard. Jack paced back and forth, glancing up to look in the window every .3 seconds. This was agony. He needed to know if things were okay. If they weren’t; if Mark was injured, and it was his fault…no, he couldn’t afford to think like that.

            Two of the doctors jumped back in apparent shock, and Jack caught sight of Mark sitting up, scratching at the air in front of him like he was trying to find something in the dark. He swung his arms wildly back and forth, his face the picture of panicked distress.

            _Fuck the rules_ , Jack thought to himself, and he ran into the room. Tiffany’s head snapped up, and she barked, “ _Sean_!”

            Jack ignored her; he sprinted to Mark’s bedside and gripped one of his wrists tightly. Mark’s head whipped around, and their eyes locked. Jack almost stumbled back in shock.

            Mark’s eyes were bloodshot, and they looked like they had a milky film over them; his once-stark brown eyes looked almost like they had cataracts. Still, they appeared to focus on Jack’s face, and he gasped.

            “Who is this?! Let go of me!” he croaked, his voice sounding extremely strained.

            “Mark, it’s me!” Jack cried, his heart jackhammering against his ribcage. “What’s wrong? Why’re you freakin’ out?”

            “Jack? It’s you?!”

            Jack’s distress deepened; it was like someone had dropped a black shroud over him. “Yes, of course it is,” he answered, his voice shockingly steady. “You’re lookin’ right at me.”

            Mark looked shocked; he sat frozen for a few moments before asking, his voice cracking in panic, “Then…why can’t I see you…? Why can’t I see you?! Jack, why can’t I see _anything_?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 2 in the morning and I really don't feel like proofreading this, so hopefully it didn't turn out like shit.
> 
> I hope I'm doing this fic justice. I think it has a lot of potential, if I can pull it off well. I feel like the writing is way too melodramatic, but the heaviness of the prompt kind of calls for that. Also, I really wanted to introduce Mark's blindness well, so I hope what I wrote was actually emotional and not just dragging and uninteresting to the reader. If I wake up tomorrow and find out that this chapter is actually shit I'll probably go back and edit it, so stay tuned for that possibility!
> 
> Constructive criticism is always appreciated! Just be polite please. :)


	4. Separation

            “We think the cause of this is damage suffered to your supraorbital ridge,” Dr. Millhouse, the man who had found Jack in the bathroom, explained to Mark and Jack while they both sat in Mark’s hospital room. The two men were white-knuckling each other’s hands, completely wracked with fear and confusion.

            “Wh…what does that mean?” Jack asked, sounding exhausted and on the verge of tears.

            “The supraorbital ridge is the area where your eyebrows are located,” Millhouse explained patiently. “Just beyond that is your optic nerve, which is what transmits sensory data from your eyes to your brain. Sometimes, when one suffers a severe head injury, the connection can be…lost.”

            Mark gently prodded at his eyebrows, looking distraught. “So is there anything we can do?” he asked brokenly. “Doc, I’m completely _blind_. I can’t see a damn thing!”

            Millhouse sighed regrettably. “We’ll do everything we can, Mr. Fischbach,” he murmured, and Jack got the sense he’d said some variation of that sentence a million times before. “But for now, we can’t promise anything. Cases like this usually don’t turn out to be success stories.”

            Mark and Jack fell silent, both waging private battles in their own heads. Jack suddenly became aware that he was shaking from head to toe, and his stomach was churning hard.

            _Mark is blind_ , he thought to himself over and over again, like a record on repeat. _Mark is blind, Mark is blind, Mark is blind. Mark is blind and it’s all my fault._

Millhouse frowned piteously at the pair of them and stood heavily. “I’ll let you two have a few moments alone,” he said quietly. “But it’s getting late; you should consider getting some sleep.” With a nod, he loped out the door and down the hall.

            Jack was about to let out the most pathetic sob he’d ever uttered, but Mark beat him to it.

            “Oh, dear God,” the older man moaned, burying his face in his hands. Jack stood up and kicked away the chair he’d dragged over, covering Mark’s hand in both of his. “Oh, God, what am I gonna tell my family? What if there’s nothing they can do…?” He looked up at Jack—or rather, a little to Jack’s left—his filmy eyes glistening with tears. “I can’t be blind, Jack! I don’t know how!”

            Jack didn’t know what to say. He was a coward; there was nothing he could bring himself to say. He put a hand on his back and pulled him closer, and Mark buried his face in Jack’s chest and sobbed—huge, body-wracking sobs that would have broken any man’s heart.

            “N-no one knows how…,” Jack said gutturally, now doing everything in his power to stop himself from crying. “It’s not something that anyone should _have_ to learn, but…we might have to.”

            A high-pitched keening sound that sounded ultimately _wrong_ coming from Mark filled the room. It was obvious he was trying to control himself: his jaw was locked hard, and his fists were clenched in the material of Jack’s shirt, but there was nothing for it.

            Mark spent the next half hour sobbing brokenheartedly into Jack’s chest, and Jack held him dutifully, feeling like the lowest, dirtiest criminal of them all, because he couldn’t bring himself to tell Mark the truth.

            _I did this to him_ , Jack repeated to himself over and over as he patted Mark’s back and tried to assure him that everything would be okay. _I did this to him. I did this to him. I shouldn’t be comforting him. He should be hating me._

* * *

            Mark’s mother flew in from Cincinnati as soon as she got the call from the hospital the night before. Her flight got delayed due to bad weather, so it wasn’t until the next morning that she finally arrived, guns a-blazing, demanding to see her son.

            Jack was in Mark’s room at the time; he’d dozed off in the visitor’s chair. So when Mrs. Fischbach arrived, breathing hard, he jumped to his feet looking guiltier than a sinner in church.

            Mrs. Fischbach didn’t pay him any attention. She went straight to Mark, her pain etched into every line of her face. She made a soft noise of anguish, and Mark stirred, his eyes opening slowly.

            “Who’s there?” he asked immediately. Jack had noticed with a pang in his chest that Mark had quickly grown paranoid and demanded to know the identity of anyone who came within two feet of him.

            “Honey, it’s _me_ ,” Mrs. Fischbach answered softly, stung. She knelt at his bedside. “You don’t…recognize me?”

            Mark sighed, and Jack could almost swear he could hear his heart break.

            “Mom, I’m…I’m _blind_ ,” he told her, his voice breaking. She gasped and covered her mouth with both hands. “They say it’s blunt force trauma, and they don’t know if they can fix it.”

             She made a soft sound of distress, tears spilling over into her cheeks. She glanced up and finally made eye contact with Jack, who realized he probably looked like hell himself with his bruised forehead and broken arm.

            “Oh, dear God…I had no idea it was this bad….” Her voice was thin and wobbly, and Jack worried that she was one good shove away from passing out.

            “I’m sorry, Mom,” Mark said wretchedly. “I wish I had better news for you….”

            She began to cry, but tried not to be too noisy about it. Jack watched as she took his hand in both of hers and kissed his knuckles.

            “Don’t apologize to me,” she whispered. “There is nothing you could have done to prevent this.”

            The words hit Jack like a slap in face. _Yeah_ , _but I sure as hell could’ve._

“I’ll give you two some privacy,” he muttered, not sure either of them heard. He stepped around Mrs. Fischbach and was mostly out of the door when he heard her ask, “How did the crash even _happen_ , honey? They didn’t tell me much over the phone.”

            Jack froze, despite himself, and heard Mark immediately answer, “I wish I knew. My memory’s pretty fuzzy. I just remember leaving that night to see a movie….”

            So he didn’t know. Jack wasn’t too surprised, because if he did he surely would have kicked him out of his life by now. Still, the knowledge made him feel as though he weighed a thousand pounds, because he couldn’t keep it a secret forever. He’d done something terrible—something that was possibly unforgivable—and he couldn’t go the rest of his life without Mark knowing exactly who was responsible for the travesty that had been done to him.

* * *

            Jack was discharged from the hospital about four days after the crash. His headaches had gone down, and he only needed to take one pain pill a day.

            “We may ask you to return for physical therapy to increase the mobility of your arm,” Dr. Millhouse told him while he collected his things. “But that’s only if you report any trouble moving or lifting it. Wear that cast for six weeks, then let us know how you’re recovering, clear?”

            Jack nodded. “Can I still visit Mark?” he asked. It was the only thing he cared about.

            “You’ll have to abide by visitation hours like everyone else,” the doctor replied. “But yes, you may. I think he’d appreciate having you there while he recovers.”

            _That’s only because he doesn’t know the truth_ , Jack thought to himself. He thanked the doctor quietly and made his way out to the lobby past huddled, grieving loved ones in chairs. He walked out of the front door and took a cab back to his and Mark’s apartment.

            When he got inside, he pulled up Twitter and saw with dismay that the entire community was buzzing with worry and sharing a news article depicting his and Mark’s accident. Gulping, he pulled it up.

            The picture shown was the two cars after the accident. Jack’s stomach lurched; he could see spatters of blood around the two vehicles, dripping from the windows. Mark’s car was turned on its side, embedded into the corner of a building, while the other man’s car was leaning against it, the wheels hanging off the ground. The entire front of his car was smashed in and almost unrecognizable. Jack had never even considered if the other driver survived. His heart pounded. If he’d been responsible for murder….

            He read through the article, which depicted the accident and described him and Mark by name (and mentioned their YouTube careers). It said that the true cause of the accident was unknown at that all three drivers were currently in the hospital. The other driver’s name was Pete Rutherford. Jack made a mental note to check on him and make sure he was okay.

            He knew he’d have to make some kind of announcement to the YouTube community explaining what had happened, but he was in no mood to confront a camera right now. Instead, Jack called his insurance company and reported the accident. He and the agent worked together to track down photographs of the crash taken by the roadside cameras and news reporters. She informed him that there was a security camera over the intersection where the crash had happened, and Jack promised to contact the city to see if he could get the footage. After hanging up, he looked up the address of the impound where the car had been taken and took another cab down.

            The car was in terrible shape: the roof was so caved in it was practically touching the seats, and there was a huge dent in the passenger side where the other car had slammed into them. They offered to let Jack take it back at a discount, but he asked to leave it there until he heard back on his deductible.

            He made it home (by way of another cab; it occurred to him that it would be expensive for him to keep travelling this way) and took another look at Twitter and Tumblr. Both were still exploding. He sighed and began setting up his recording equipment, wondering how he’d ever be able to explain everything.

            He sat down and looked at his face on the screen. He still looked like a wreck, but there was no way to fix that. His bruise had gone down but was still discolored and disturbing-looking, and the cuts across his face made him look like some kind of grenade survivor. Sighing, he turned on the camera.

            Jack stared into the lens for a few minutes, trying to decide what to say. He had no energy to pretend to be chipper and optimistic, and there were no words that he could use to describe the gravity of the situation. With a sigh, he bent over, scrubbed his face, then resolved to sit up and say the first thing that came to his head.

            He blurted, “I’m really sorry, everybody.” His voice was gravelly and choppy, and he suddenly wondered when the last time he’d drank water was. “Something terrible has happened, as I’m sure you already heard…a few days ago, Mark and I were drivin’ back from a movie theatre, and we got into a car accident….” He gulped, feeling tears stinging at his eyes. “Dammit,” he muttered, bending over to wipe them. No way was he going to cry in front of all his viewers.

            “We…um, well, we…don’t know what’s going to happen now,” he stammered, struggling to finish the video. “I want to be honest…Mark is still in the hospital, and we don’t know if he’ll be able to recover completely.” Jack’s voice was shaking, and he hated himself for it. “I’ll keep you posted if you hear anything new, but for now…just please send us your love and support that he’ll get better, okay?” He stared at the camera for a few more moments, wondering if there was anything else to say, but he couldn’t think of anything, so he just nodded awkwardly, swallowing hard, and shut it off.

            It occurred to Jack that he hadn’t done his intro or his outro, and also that that video was probably the most depressing that he’d ever uploaded, but what else was he going to say? He loaded the file onto his computer and uploaded it without so much as opening an editing program, then turned away. He couldn’t deal with the response the announcement would probably get right now.

* * *

            That night, Jack got a call from the hospital. He’d been sleeping, but as soon as he saw the number he bolted straight up in bed, his heart pounding.

            “Yes? Hello? Hello, what’s wrong?” he said, his voice speeding along at a million miles per hour.

            “Jack, calm down, it’s me,” Mark murmured, his voice rough and scratchy. Jack gasped.

            “ _Mark_? Hey, what’s up?” he asked, curling his knees to his chest.

            “Nothing, I’m just completely failing at falling asleep. Mom helped me dial your number.”

            Jack’s heart sank. Of course she would’ve had to do that; Mark wouldn’t have been able to see his phone screen. “Oh, well…thank you for calling me.”

            “I miss you,” Mark said sorrowfully. “I wish I was back home so we could sleep in the same bed.”

            Jack’s heart pounded painfully. “When…when do you think you’ll be discharged?”

            “I don’t know. The doctor told me today that my ribs are doing better, but there’s no telling on my eyesight.” He sighed bitterly. “If there’s nothing they can do for me I wish they’d just let me go home.”

            “Yeah…me too.”

            “Did you figure anything out about the crash? Where’s our car? How’s the other guy? What’s the deductible?”

            Jack gulped. “Um…the car’s been impounded. It’s completely totaled. I didn’t get any word on the other guy, I was planning on doing that tomorrow.”

            “Dammit. Did the insurance say they’ll cover the car?”

            “They need footage of the accident first to see whose fault it was.”

            “Yeah, that sounds right…do you remember anything about the crash? I can’t remember a damn thing. Whose fault was it?”

            Jack felt absolutely certain he was going to vomit. “Uh….”

            He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t tell him. He couldn’t stand the thought of Mark’s heart breaking, the utter betrayal, the screaming and the sobbing and the anguish.

            “N-no…no, I can’t remember anything either.” Jack gulped. “That’s why I’m going to talk to the city about getting the security footage…so that we can see what happened.”

            Mark sighed. “Yeah, I was afraid you wouldn’t remember…oh well, hopefully the camera picked it up.” He sat in silence for a few moments and said, “Well, starting tomorrow I can legally check myself out of the hospital. If they can’t do anything about my vision I’m going to come home, if that’s fine with you.”

            Jack’s heart skipped a beat. “Uh, yeah, sure. I’ll come and get you.”

            “Do any of our friends know what happened?”

            “No, I haven’t called anyone personally yet.” Jesus, he hadn’t even thought to. What would Felix, Bob, Wade be thinking? They were probably worried sick, if they knew at all. “I haven’t even called my folks yet. They probably don’t know about it, being all the way in Ireland.”

            “Yeah, you should call them tomorrow. I’ll let you know if I’m coming home.”

            “Okay, thank you.”

            There was a long beat of silence in which Jack ached with the desire to have Mark there in person. He wanted to hold him tight; to bury his head in his chest and feel like everything would be okay, the way he always felt in his embrace. He wanted to be relieved of his horrible guilt, but he knew that was impossible—and besides, he didn’t deserve to be rid of it. All of this was his fault. Why should he get to take the responsibility of Mark’s condition off of him?

            “I should probably get going,” Mark said with regret. “Don’t want one of the staff to catch me with my phone after dark.”

            A tiny smile appeared on Jack’s face. “What are you, a kid at summer camp?”

            Mark chuckled. “I love you.”

            “I love you too. I love you so much.” Jack wanted to get all the words out; he wanted to say them one last time, just in case he’d never be allowed to say them again. “I really do, Mark, I’m so, _so_ in love with you.”

            “Whoa, what’s wrong?” Mark sounded amused, if not a little concerned. “It’s not like I’m dying. I love you too, babe.”

            “Good, because I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t.” Jack glanced at the time; it was three in the morning. “Get some sleep. Maybe it’ll help you heal.”

            Mark snorted. “Yeah, fat chance. I’ll call you tomorrow. Goodnight, Jack.”

            “Goodnight.” Jack hung up to spare Mark the indignity of fumbling for the end call button, then fell back against his pillows.

            He still hadn’t told Mark the truth, which felt punishable by death. The more he prolonged this charade, the more he betrayed his boyfriend’s trust.

            But still, what else could he do? The thought of losing Mark was unbearable. Jack’s pain was so great already that he couldn’t bear to add any more to it. But what else was he supposed to do?

            His face twisting, Jack rolled to the side, buried his head in a pillow, and cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I don't really like this chapter. Not a lot happens in it, but I think it's necessary to move the story.
> 
> This fic has the potential to drag on forever, but I'm gonna try and make sure that doesn't happen. Hopefully Mark coming home in the next chapter will boost the story along.
> 
> Constructive criticism is always appreciated! Just be polite. :)


	5. A Warm Welcome Home

            “Wait, _what_ happened?!”

            Jack winced and pulled the phone away from his ear; his mum’s high-pitched shrill aggravated his head in a way that it hadn’t since the accident.

            “I got in an accident, Mum,” he said wearily. “I’ll be fine. Mark’s a little worse for wear, but he’s not on his deathbed.”

            “Who cares about Mark? I’m worried about _you_ , Jack! Do I need to fly out there? Should I be sendin’ money?”

            “No, no, calm down—well, actually, I’ll always say yes to money.”

            She scoffed. “Now’s not the time for jokes.”

            Jack rolled his eyes. _It never is_ , he thought ruefully. “Well, Mum, I’m fine. I’ve got a fractured shoulder and I had a concussion, but that’s gone now. I just thought I should call and tell you.”

            “Damn right you should. You should’ve called me the minute you were well enough to hold a phone!”

            “I love you too, Mum.”

            A few minutes later, Jack had hung up and pulled out his laptop. He sent a Skype call to Wade first, who it turns out had already heard about the accident. He stared at Jack with unbridled horror.

            “Dude, you look like hell,” he blurted after a few minutes of awkward silence.      

            Jack rolled his eyes. “Still look better n’ you,” he grumbled, but his heart wasn’t in it.

            “ _Damn_ , Jack. I heard about the accident on Twitter. Where’s Mark?”

            “Still in the hospital. He’s callin’ me today to tell me if he’s comin’ home.”

            “He’s still there?” Wade went significantly paler. “Is he okay?”

            Jack gulped. “Um…no, he isn’t, really.” It felt good to admit that, because there was no point in lying. “He suffered damage to his sub—sub somethin’-or-other, it’s his eyebrow or some shit—and apparently hitting that too hard causes…erm, blindness.”

            Wade’s jaw dropped—literally. Jack thought that only happened in terrible movies.

            “He’s _blind_?!”

            “At the moment, yeah….”

            “Holy fucking shit,” Wade swore without missing a beat. “Do the other guys know?”

            “No, I told you first. Um, Bob’s next, then Felix…wait, could you maybe call Tyler? I don’t have his contact information.”

            “I don’t know if I do, but I might be able to find someone who does…damn, Jack, this is some really deep shit….”

            “Yeah, you’re right about that.” Jack sighed and scrubbed his face. “Anyway, I’ve got a long day ahead of me. Do you mind if I—?”

            “Oh, go ahead dude, I understand. Just call me if you hear anything, okay?”

            “Yeah, will do. See you later, Wade.” Jack hung up, took a deep breath, and contacted Bob next. He didn’t take the news any easier than Wade had.

            “Oh my God,” Bob murmured when Jack finished his spiel. “Jesus…do they think they’ll be able to fix him?”

            “Honestly, they have no idea,” Jack sighed lifelessly, “but they say it doesn’t look good.”

            “Wow…Jesus Christ, wow…is there anything I can do?”

            Jack half-smiled at the sentiment. “Just keep us in your prayers…I don’t care what kind, just prayers.” If there was any sort of god above him, Jack hoped He (or She) had a free moment to perform some kind of miracle. “Thanks for all your help, Bob.”

            “Yeah, yeah, no problem. Just take care of yourself, all right?”

            “I’ll do my best.”

            Jack made a call to Felix, who was shockingly calm (but significantly paler than Jack had ever remembered seeing him), and he expressed sentiments similar to the others’.

            “Damn, I hope he turns out all right,” he sighed, pulling at his wheat-colored bangs. “Listen, whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it. I’ll fly down there myself if you want.”

            Jack smiled mirthlessly. “Thanks, Felix, that means a lot,” he said, hoping he sounded genuine. “I’ll let you know if I need anything, really.”

            “You’d better. Have you told everyone else?”

            “Ken doesn’t know yet, but would you mind making that call?” Jack rubbed his tired eyes. “I’m really not in the mood…there’s so much else I have to do today, and—”

            “Nah, don’t sweat it, dude. I’ll call Ken.” Felix paused, staring hard at Jack. “And hey, don’t beat yourself up over this. Everything’ll turn out fine, promise.”

            Jack nodded to humor him. “I know it will,” he lied blatantly. “See you later, man.”

            “Take care of yourself.”

            Jack shut his laptop and fell back against the couch with a groan. He felt tired enough to fall asleep right there, and he might have if the phone hadn’t rang. He sat straight up and grabbed at it. It was Mark’s number.

            “Hey! Mark? Is that you?”

            “Yeah, hi Jack! I finally got Siri to call you; Jesus that took way too much effort.”

            “So what’s the verdict? Are you staying or going?”

            “I’m coming home,” Mark said decisively, and Jack’s stomach did a backflip. “The doctors said there’s nothing they can do but sit and hope my eyesight heals itself, but the chances of that are pretty slim.”

            “Oh….” Jack’s heart sank, and he felt numb all over. He’d suspected that that would be the final say, but hearing it said was a new thing entirely. “I…I’m so—”

            “Don’t say you’re sorry,” Mark interjected soberly. “I appreciate it, really, but I get tired of hearing that every time.”

            Jack nodded, swallowing his injured feelings. “Yeah, sorry, you’re right.”

            “Anyway, my mom’s driving me back there. She’ll probably stay here for the night before she goes back to Cincinnati.”

            “Okay, that’s fine. I’ll make a bed.” Jack heaved himself to his feet and readied himself to feign calmness for the next forty-two hours. “When should I expect you?”

            “Probably in about an hour. Mom’s just helping me fill out some exit papers.” There was a smile in Mark’s voice as he said, “I can’t wait to hear you in person again.”

            Jack swallowed and nodded, forgetting that Mark couldn’t see him over the phone (or at all, honestly). “Yeah, I can’t either,” he said shakily, aware that he was half-lying. “See you soon.”

            “Bye, babe. Love you.”

            Jack hung up the phone and dropped it limply onto the sofa. He really was eager to see Mark again, out of his hospital bed and walking around, but it also meant that he’d have to either tell him the truth about the accident or perpetuate the ugly lie he’d created. What would Mark think when he knew it had been Jack who ran the red light? Or, Christ—what would his poor _mother_ think? He could only imagine the hell she was already going through without that knowledge being thrown on top of it.

            To distract himself, Jack did something he should’ve done a long time ago: he Googled the hospital that Pete Rutherford had been admitted to and called the front desk.

            “Hello, this is Central Square Hospital. How may I help you?”

            “H-hi, my name is Sean McLoughlin…do you have a patient named Pete Rutherford in your care? He suffered a car accident a few days ago.”

            “Pete Rutherford…yes, he is here. Are you family?”

            “No, I…I’m actually the person he crashed into.” Jack grimaced. “I was just wondering if he was okay.”

            The receptionist paused. “One moment please,” she said, all business. Jack waited, tapping his foot anxiously.

            “Mr. Rutherford’s report says that he’ll be able to make a full recovery,” she relayed after a few minutes. “He suffered a bruised chest and three broken ribs, but otherwise he’ll be fine.”

            Jack let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God. Thank you for telling me. Is there any way you can give me his contact information? I want to exchange insurance information once he’s well.”

            “I’m not technically allowed to give out a patient’s personal information, but I’ll tell him you called,” she answered sleekly. “Have a good day, Mr. McLoughlin.”

            “Uh, yeah, have a good one.” Jack hung up the phone, took a shaky breath, and began tidying the living room. He spread a blanket over the couch and fluffed it up with some pillows, debating whether or not he’d offer Mrs. Fischbach this bed or his own. She might want to sleep with her son for this first night, just to make sure he was okay. Mothers were weird like that.

            While Jack was in the bathroom cleaning his face as best he could (but there was really nothing to be done), the front door opened, and he could hear Mark and his mother talking. He gasped, his heart pounding in his throat, before he exited the bathroom.

            “Oh God…,” he whispered under his breath, unable to stop himself. Someone had given Mark a pair of sunglasses to wear, and he was stumbling—well, _blindly_ , his hand feeling the air in front of him while his mother guided him down the hall. He looked for all the world like a disabled person, as if the gravity of the situation hadn’t already hit Jack.

            He cleared his throat, blinking back the threat of tears, and intercepted them. “Hi Mark,” he said clearly to give his boyfriend an idea of where he stood. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

            A smile broke over Mark’s face, and he gently removed his arm from his mother’s and reached forward cautiously. Jack stepped forward and met him in the middle, embracing him tightly. Mark squeezed him and Jack could hear him sigh.

            “Thank God I’m out of that damn hospital,” he mumbled. “The food there sucks _balls_ ,”

            “Don’t you worry about that,” Mrs. Fischbach said with a smile. “I’m making you chicken soup.”

            Mark grinned like a little boy and looked back to where her voice originated. “Really? _Yes_! Oh, damn, I’d get sick more often if I knew it got me homemade soup.”

            She laughed. “Now don’t you joke like that, young man,” she admonished him. “I’ll get started on that now, if you’d like. Jack, would you be so kind as to help him settle back in?”

            Jack nodded vigorously. “Yeah, of course.”

            Mark snorted. “C’mon, Mom, I don’t need his help. It’s not like I’m bedridden.” Despite this, he gratefully took Jack’s arm and allowed himself to be led back to his bedroom.

            “Have you considered using a cane…?” Jack asked quietly, almost afraid to ask. Mark sighed.

            “Yeah, it’s occurred to me…I don’t know, I guess I’m not ready to admit defeat yet.”

            “Yeah, I hear you.” Jack opened the door and led him inside. “Careful—here’s the bed. Sit down.”

            Mark dutifully sat down, and pitched back without warning so that he was laying. With a small laugh, Jack laid back next to him.

            Mark was facing the ceiling, his dark glasses slightly askew. “Damn…it’s good to be back.” He grinned a little and tilted his head towards Jack. “Are you sitting on this side of me?”

            “Yeah, I’m here.” Jack tapped his right arm softly to confirm this.

            “Okay, good. My hearing’s been getting better, and my sense of smell. Isn’t that weird? People talk about that kinda stuff happening when they lose one of their senses, but I guess I never really believed them.”

            “Uh…wow, really?” Jack said, his voice trembling against his will. “That’s…that’s pretty cool, I guess.”

            “Yeah, it’s just weird, really. Like, I never knew my bed had a smell, but it does. Like right now—” Mark turned his face into the cover and took a loud sniff. Jack laughed a little despite himself. “Right now, my bed smells like soap, your mango cologne, and straight-up dude. Isn’t that weird? I’m like a basset hound or something.”

            Jack laughed again. “I don’t have _mango cologne_. It’s called _Empowerment_.”

            “What-the-hell-ever, babe. It’s mango-scented dude perfume.” Mark sat up, grinning cheekily.

            “Yeah, but it’s macho, and I know you like it.” Jack was blushing a little. He could almost pretend everything was normal while they flirted this way. Maybe things would be all right. Maybe he wouldn’t always feel guilty. Maybe—

            “So, Jack, have you heard anything else about the crash?” Mark asked, and all of Jack’s fantasies shattered like glass. “Did you ask the city to send you the tape?”

            Jack gulped. “Uh…no, I haven’t yet,” he admitted. “I’ve been busy. I made a YouTube video, I called Wade and Bob and—”

            “You made a video?” Mark asked, sounding sad. “Wh-what was the response?”

            Tears stung at Jack’s eyes. Jesus, he was sick of crying. He wiped at them angrily. “I don’t know, I haven’t checked,” he mumbled. “I’m kind of…scared to.”

            Mark nodded, lowering his head. “Yeah, I would be too…damn, maybe I need to make a video.” He frowned suddenly. “But Jesus, how can I? I mean, I won’t know where the lens is or how it looks or….”

            “Hey, dude, it’s okay. Don’t worry about that right now.” Jack gripped Mark’s hands, wanting desperately to take all of his pain and bear it himself. “Forget about YouTube. It’s not important right now.”

            Mark was clearly on the verge of tears. “But…but that’s my _life_ …that’s _our_ life! What if I can’t do it anymore?” He gulped hard. “Oh, who am I kidding? Of course I can’t do that anymore. I can’t look at a monitor, or a camera, or—”

            “Mark, listen to me, it’s okay! Please, Mark, let’s just not think about that right now….”

            To Jack’s surprise, Mark sniffled and nodded. “Yeah…yeah, you’re right,” he said thickly, wiping his nose. “I can’t think about that right now…I’ve got too much other shit to deal with right now.”

            Jack nodded, squeezing his hands. “Yeah, exactly.” He glanced around the room and licked his lips. “So, is there anything you wanna do until your mum finishes making soup?”

            Mark thought to himself for a few minutes. “Um…do you mind calling back our friends with me?” he asked. “I know you already called them today, but—”

            “No, dude, that’s fine with me. Let me grab my laptop.” He ran into the living room and brought it back into the bedroom, where Mark was sitting crisscross-applesauce in the middle of the bed. Jack sat down next to him, purposefully making a lot of noise, and pulled up Skype. “Who do you wanna call first?”

            “Bob and Wade, both of them,” he said immediately.

            Jack typed in their names and began making the call.

            His heart was heavy with guilt, but he needed to do this. He would force himself to be strong for Mark, because he needed him. He couldn’t afford to leave him; neither one of them could be apart right now, Mark especially.

            He wasn’t just lying for his own sake; it was for Mark’s too, because he couldn’t be alone. Jack told himself this over and over again, as if it could keep his gut-gnawing guilt at bay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this chapter isn't exactly what I wanted. Idk, I'm having to build up more than I want to. (Don't get me wrong, I think the buildup is necessary, and I didn't write it badly; I'm just not sure that it's what you guys want to read.)
> 
> Hopefully next chapter we'll be able to get to the climax I have planned, and then we can have falling action and resolution, blah blah blah, kiss kiss fall in love.
> 
> Constructive criticism is appreciated! Just make it polite. :P


	6. The Hard Truth

            “Hello everybody. My name is Markiplier, and I’m so glad to be talking to you guys once again.”

            Jack leaned against the wall in the corner of the room chewing on his thumbnail. He’d made sure he was out of the frame when he set up the recording equipment for Mark. He watched anxiously as his boyfriend faced the direction that he’d told him to, and he noticed with a pang that he was struggling not to be too animated, lest he forget where to look.

            “So, you’ve probably heard from Jack and on the news that the two of us were in a pretty bad car accident,” Mark explained, sounding shockingly conversational. “Neither of us are facing any fatal complications, and everything is going to be fine. Jack is almost completely healed, and the other driver will be discharged from the hospital in almost no time.

            “However, the situation isn’t what I’d necessarily call ideal….” Jack smirked cynically at the understatement. Mark paused, seemingly gathering his bearings, and continued, “I’m very sorry to say that I’ve lost one hundred percent of my eyesight, and I am now completely blind as a result of blunt force trauma I suffered during the crash. But I—”

            Mark suddenly stopped, and his breath hitched. Jack jerked to a standing position, ready to run over there and turn off the camera if he needed to. Mark took a few deep breaths, as though regaining his composure, then looked back at the screen and spoke steadily once again.

            “But I’m going to be fine,” he went on, his voice sounding thicker but showing no other indications of struggling with his emotions. “I haven’t lost hope, and while I don’t how or if I’ll be able to continue doing YouTube, I’m going to give it my best shot.

            “So I’d just like to say thank you to all of the well-wishes you have sent me and Jack since Jack made a video announcement. He read each and every one of them to me last night, and you guys are _so_ sweet, thank you so much for caring about me and sending me your prayers and good wishes, I appreciate every single one of them. So keep sending me your love and I’ll send it right back to you, and I will keep you posted on any more developments that occur. But until then, I will see you in the next video. Buh-bye!”

            Mark leaned back in his chair, and Jack hurried forward and shut off the camera. Mark scrubbed his face with his hands; the wire sunglasses fell off his face, and Jack was again disturbed by his milky, red-veined eyes.

            “Damn, that was hard,” he muttered quietly while Jack disassembled the tripod.

            “Really? I thought you played it really well,” Jack replied, trying not to sound worried.

            “Yeah, I guess I did. I almost lost it there in the middle though.” He sat up and stretched. “Damn…I don’t know how I’ll be able to keep doing YouTube if I can’t even see the camera. Hell, I can’t edit the video either.”

            “Don’t worry about that, I’m gonna edit it.”

            “Yeah, because I _can’t_.” Mark sighed and tugged at his hair. “Ugh, never mind. I can’t cry in front of my mom. Here, will you help me up?” He reached out to Jack, who took his arm and helped him out of his chair and into the living room, where Mrs. Fischbach was packing up her things.

            “Oh, hello honey. Did you finish your video?” she asked sweetly. Mark nodded.

            “Yeah, I got through it. It’ll probably be really short, though.”

            “Oh, don’t worry about that. People will just be relieved that you’re alive and well.”

            Mark nodded with a shrug and said, “Take me to the couch, please.” Jack dutifully led him there and watched him sit down.

            “Are you sure you don’t wanna drive with us to the airport?” Mrs. Fischbach asked. Mark shook his head.

            “Nah, I’d rather stay in for now. But thanks for coming down, it means a lot to me.” Mark smiled at her, but Jack could tell it was another act.

            He suspected she did too, but she smiled back anyway and kissed his forehead. “It was my pleasure, honey. If you ever need anything, I’m only a phone call away.”

            “I wouldn’t put you through that kind of trouble.”

            “What trouble? You’re my baby boy. Of course I’ll come down to help you.”

            Jack laughed and Mark groaned. “God, I’m twenty-six. I’m not a baby anymore,” he protested with a smile.

            “You’re my youngest. You’ll always be the baby,” she retaliated, chuckling. “Take care of yourself, honey.”

            “You too, Mom.”

            Jack walked Mrs. Fischbach out and took a cab with her back to the airport (apparently she and Mark had foregone renting her a car) and bought her a coffee once she got there. It was the least he could do, he felt, after everything that had happened.

            “It was very sweet of you to accompany me out here,” she gushed while she finished her cappuccino.

            “Yeah…it’s too bad Mark didn’t wanna come.” Jack stirred his drink anxiously.

            “Don’t worry too much about him,” she said shrewdly. “He just needs a little time to sort himself out. He’ll come around, you’ll see. Mark’s a resilient one.”

            Jack nodded, trying to believe it. He downed a few glugs of coffee. He hadn’t put any milk or sugar in it, and it tasted like nut-filled battery acid, but he hoped it’d wake him up.

            “Jack?” Mrs. Fischbach asked, and he raised his eyebrows expectantly at her. He was startled to see she looked uncomfortable.

            “Yes?”

            “Do you know anything about the crash?” she asked fretfully, and Jack’s stomach flip-flopped. She rushed on. “It’s okay if you don’t, I’m just curious, because you seem like you—”

            “I…I do,” he confessed, and he lowered his eyes to the table. “I do know somethin’….”

            A few beats of unbearable silence passed between them, in which Jack was physically unable to remove his gaze from his cup of coffee. Mrs. Fischbach was sitting statue-still, her face white.

            “Well…what is it?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

            Jack gulped. “I know how the crash happened,” he said, his voice brittle. “Mark doesn’t remember, but….” He took a deep lungful of air. It felt like somebody had laid an anvil on his chest.

            “But what?” she urged, leaning forward over the table. “It’s okay, Jack, you can tell me what happened.”

            He took another long drink of his coffee, relishing in the horrible taste it left in his mouth. When he’d drained his cup, he set it down, pushed it aside, and forced himself to look Mark’s mother in the eyes. He squeezed his hands tightly in his lap.

            “Well, we’d gone to the movies that night, and we picked up food on the way back…and, y’know, it was date night, we were havin’ fun, bein’ silly….” He took a deep shuddering breath. Mrs. Fischbach was standing at him wide-eyed; she nodded for him to keep going. “Well, we were comin’ up on a red light, and Mark gave me a bite of pizza, and I wasn’t payin’ attention, and I ran a red light, and the other driver plowed through the intersection….”

            Her hands were shaking, and Jack ran out of words to say. He wished he hadn’t drained his coffee; it would give him something to do. He watched shamefacedly as Mrs. Fischbach slowly stared down at her coffee, her face a picture of shock and sadness.

            “So…,” she said finally, her voice tiny and hoarse, “you’re saying that…you caused the crash?”

            Jack’s throat felt clogged; he cleared it and welcomed the sting. “I haven’t told anyone,” he said wretchedly. “I feel so _guilty_ ; I wasn’t payin’ attention, and I’m an idiot for that, and I can’t tell you how awful I feel—”

            Mrs. Fischbach stood up slowly, as if all of the energy had been drained out of her. She was breathless, and she couldn’t look Jack in the eyes.

            “I’m going to be late for my flight,” she said to the air in front of her. “Take care, Jack.”

            “But I…,” Jack pleaded, but he may as well have been invisible. Mrs. Fischbach shuffled away from him, zombielike, almost as though she was coming apart at the seams.

            The message couldn’t have been clearer. Jack felt it like a punch in the stomach: _My son is blind because of you!_

Slowly, he lowered his chin to the table, feeling tears stream down his cheeks. _You just broke that poor woman’s heart_ , a seedy voice in his head jeered. _How the fuck does that make you feel?_

Clenching his jaw, Jack squashed his empty cup in his fist and chucked it into the trashcan aggressively. He stalked out of the airport Starbucks and into the street, where he called a cab, kicked a discarded can twenty feet away, and wished he had enough dynamite to incinerate the entire planet.

            _You did this. You did this. You_ fucking _did this. What’s Mark gonna think? He’ll probably hate you. He’ll probably never talk to you again. He’ll probably cry. How are you gonna feel when you see Mark cry because you ruined his fucking life?_

Tears burned in Jack’s eyes and throat, but he refused to let himself cry. There’d be no more crying. He’d cried more than enough.

            When he got home, he’d tell Mark. The longer he waited, the scummier he was. It wasn’t fair that he kept lying to him. Mark had the right to know why he was blind, and he had the right to kick Jack out of his life, if that’s what he wanted.

            And no matter what Mark wanted, Jack would do it, even if it broke his heart, even if it killed him…because whatever Mark’s wrath was, he knew he deserved it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, story progression! (Well, I guess the story was always progressing, but you know what I mean.) I'm soooooo excited to write this next chapter, it'll be a good one, mwahahaha.
> 
> Constructive criticism is always appreciated! Just remember to be polite. :)


	7. Jack's Confession

            On the way home, Jack thought that he’d steeled himself to expect and deal with every possibility of what Mark would do when he found out the truth. If he’d cry, Jack would take it. If he’d scream and yell, Jack would take it. If he was understanding, Jack would be more than happy to take it, although he seriously doubted this outcome.

            However, he wasn’t prepared to find him naked.

            When he walked through the front door, he stormed straight to the bedroom, the words, “Mark, we need to talk,” already on his lips. He’d barely opened his mouth, however, when he stepped inside and caught sight of Mark’s bare backside.

            Mark swiveled around, startled, and snatched a bed pillow to cover his unmentionables. “ _Who’s there_?!” he demanded, his unseeing eyes wide. He’d removed his sunglasses too; the only thing still covering his body was a wrap of bandages around his chest.

            “Mark, it’s me!” Jack cried, stumbling back into the doorway a little. _Well_ , he thought blankly, _this was unforeseen._

A stupid smile formed on Mark’s face, and he relaxed a little. “Oh, hey. You scared the living shit out of me.” He chuckled and tossed the pillow back onto the bed, and it took every single fiber in Jack’s being to resist glancing down. “Hey, I was just about to hop in the shower. Would you care to join me?” His voice was so low and gravelly that it made it physically painful for Jack to say no.

            “Um…not right now,” he said roughly, squeezing his nails into his palms. _C’mon, you pussy, get on with it._ “I actually need to talk to you…like, now.”

            Mark’s smile slipped away. “Is everything okay?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

            “Well…no, not really,” Jack confessed, his heart thrashing erratically in his chest. “Would you mind getting dressed so we can talk?”

            “Um…sure, yeah, I guess,” he replied, concern coloring his voice. He waved blindly in the direction of the dresser, grappling for a drawer handle. Jack stood up and opened it, handing him a pair of boxers and his bathrobe hanging on the hook.

            Mark’s cheeks reddened shamefully. “C’mon, babe, I don’t want you to help me all the time…,” he grumbled, slipping on the clothes. Jack felt guilty.

            “Sorry, I just really wanna get this out before I lose my nerve.” He sat back on the bed and waited anxiously while Mark guided himself and sat next to him.

            “Okay…so what’s up?” Mark asked. He took Jack’s hand tentatively, and Jack let him. It might be the last time he ever did.

            “Well…I have something to tell you about…that night,” he murmured, his voice already trembling. “You know…the night we crashed.”

            Mark squeezed his hand, looking concerned. “Okay, yeah, what is it? Did you remember anything?”

            Jack gulped hard. This would make or break it.

            “I, uh…I never actually forgot.”

            Against his better judgment, he glanced at Mark’s face. It was the picture of shock, then he sagged, clearly wounded. “You…what? Why did you lie to me…?” His voice was much softer than it had been before, and Jack’s heart shattered.

            “I’m so sorry,” Jack blurted, his voice raw with emotion. “I didn’t want to lie to you, I really didn’t; the guilt was tearing me up…but I was scared to tell you the truth….”

            Mark’s stricken expression worsened. “What’s the truth…?” he asked uneasily.

            Jack’s heart was pounding so hard he thought he might faint. _Sack up, Jack._ “Well…I remember everything….” The words began spilling from his mouth like an untapped faucet’s; he couldn’t have stopped talking if he wanted to. “We went to the movies, a-and we picked up a pizza on our way home…and we were driving, and I wasn’t paying attention, I was bein’ a fuckin’ idiot, and…y-you were already eating the pizza, bein’ silly, and…and y-y-you offered me a b-bite….” Sobs were hammering away at Jack’s throat now, and he could barely get the words out without stuttering. “…a-and I, I didn’t l-l-look at what was g-going on…and…and I-I ran a r-red light, and th-th-there was another c-car coming, and he didn’t slow down…and w-we….”

            Mark was staring at Jack with unmasked sadness. “We crashed…,” he finished resignedly.

            There were a few beats of silence in which Jack swallowed no less than what felt like 137 times in an effort not to cry. He stared at his hands, limp in his lap, and when he thought he composed himself, he opened his mouth—

            And he burst into tears. Finally, all the pent-up guilt and heartbreak came crashing out; it beat its way out of his chest and puddled all over the floor. Jack felt as though he was positively dripping grief.

            Mark was startled; he leaned back a little at the outburst of noise. “Jack, I—”

            “It’s _all my fault_!” Jack wailed, and he buried his face in his hands— _my fucking hands, my fucking hands that gripped the wheel and did this to him_. “It’s all my fault, if I had been paying attention, if I hadn’t been so _fucking stupid_ …if I hadn’t been distracted and if I had just _looked_ where I was _fucking going_ …”

            “Jack, hey, listen to—”

            “Then you wouldn’t be _in_ this mess!” Jack dug his nails into his forehead, wishing he could tear away all of his skin. “I’ve ruined everything, Mark! I’ve taken your whole life away! I know I have, and I hate it, I fucking hate myself, it’s all my fucking fault!” He took his hands away and looked at Mark, who held a lost, desolate-looking expression that only confirmed Jack’s suspicions; a horrible-sounding sob sliced open his throat. “And I know you probably hate me now, and you’ve got every right to because I fucking deserve it, and I’m sure you’ll want me out of your house and I deserve that too—”

            “ _Jack_ ,” Mark said firmly, his deep bass filling up the room. Jack drifted off midsentence and stared at him, and he was surprised to see that his surprised expression hadn’t twisted into one of hatred.

            Mark reached forward tentatively and took Jack’s hands, squeezing them tightly. “Jack…,” he said again, more softly this time.

            Jack barely allowed himself to breathe.

            Mark gulped, as if gathering his nerve.

            Then he tipped forward and kissed him.

            It wasn’t a perfect kiss; Mark missed by a few centimeters, but every last bit of emotion was there. Jack’s entire body caught fire, because he’d already resigned himself to the fate of feeling Mark’s anguish and betrayal and getting tossed out into the streets. He’d never expected to feel his compassion again, to feel him kissing him tenderly over and over again, one after the other, inching his way across his face until he found his lips and pressing against them. Jack’s tears leaked pitifully across his face, and his grief was replaced with utter confusion.

            “Wh-why…?” Jack murmured, opening his eyes slowly. Mark’s face was inches from his, and his eyes were still closed.

            “Because I couldn’t stand to listen to you hate yourself anymore,” he murmured. He cupped Jack’s face in his hands and kissed him again, and Jack let him, his cheeks heating up and his heart pattering in his chest.

            _He doesn’t hate me_ , he thought to himself on a loop, unable to believe it. _He doesn’t hate me. He doesn’t hate me. He doesn’t hate me._

“But…but it’s all my fault,” Jack whimpered, pulling back a little bit, eyes shut. “I was the one who caused the crash….”

            “But you didn’t do it on purpose,” Mark countered fervently. “You would never have done something like that on purpose….”

            “Who cares if it was on purpose or not?” He opened his eyes and sighed, lowering his head. Mark’s hands drifted up into his hair. “I’ve taken _everything_ from you, Mark….”

            “Stop saying that!” Mark leaned in again and pressed his forehead to Jack’s, giving Jack a momentary lapse in breathing. “Jack, the only way you could possibly take everything from me is if you walked out on me.”

            Jack was stunned. _Wow, that’s deep_ , the cynical half of his brain jeered, while the gushy half melted itself into oblivion. He stammered, “But…but I—”

            Mark’s eyes flew open. “Stop trying to make yourself into the bad guy and just—” Suddenly, he broke off, looking completely and utterly flabbergasted.

            “What is it?” Jack asked, suddenly anxious. “What’s wrong?”

            “N-no, I just….” Mark gulped and blinked hard a few times. Then he rubbed his eyes. “I just…I….”

            “Are you okay?” Jack reached for his phone. “Do I need to call the hospital?”

            “No, just….” Mark reached forward slowly, almost fearfully, and Jack stiffened as his fingers lightly brushed across his face.

            Tears welled in Mark’s eyes, and he began to laugh, which was an altogether strange combination. Jack’s brow furrowed. “What’s wrong, Mark?”

            “Nothing’s wrong! But I…I can _see_ you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Proofreading? Pshhhh!! Nah, that's for losers and squares.
> 
> I've really been looking forward to writing this chapter. I'm surprised it's so short, but I didn't want to drag out Jack's angsting unnecessarily. I hope you guys liked this. :)
> 
> Constructive criticism is always welcome! Just be polite please.


	8. Epilogue: Miracles Do Happen

            “So, how much can you see exactly?” Dr. Millhouse asked, leaning forward on his knees and scrutinizing Mark like one would a microscope sample.

            “Jack. All I can see is Jack.”

            “What about the area surrounding Jack?”

            “It’s just pitch black.”

            “But Jack is in perfect focus.”

            “Yeah, I can see him perfectly, every detail. I just can’t see any other goddamn thing.”

            “Can you see the clothes he’s wearing?”

            Mark snorted. “Yes, Doc. I don’t have x-ray vision…which is a real shame.” Jack chortled despite himself.

            Millhouse smiled. “What is Jack doing right now?” he asked.

            Mark glanced to his right. “He’s sitting next to me, crossing one leg,” he reported. “Now he’s scratching his beard, needs to shave the damn thing…now he’s scratching his nose with his middle finger…now he’s blushing.”

            “Okay, I believe you,” Millhouse said amusedly. “Well, Mr. Fischbach, it seems you’re telling the truth.”

            Mark looked in his direction, clearly offended. “What, you thought I was lying?”

            “I honestly don’t know what to think. I’ve never heard of a case like this.” Millhouse rubbed his forehead, thinking hard. “When did this phenomena come about?”

            Mark and Jack both reddened. Jack cleared his throat. “It…it was after he kissed me. We’d been fighting.”

            Millhouse nodded stoically, which was a relief. “I see…this is a very bizarre case, Mr. Fischbach.”

            “Do you think it means my vision could be coming back?” Mark asked hopefully. Millhouse shrugged.

            “I don’t know what to think. Your condition appeared to be irreversible, but here we are.” He smirked. “Maybe it was the ‘ _miracle of love_ ’ that restored your ability to see Jack, although that sounds like magic that I don't really believe in.”

            Jack blushed deeply. “Magic is only science we don’t understand yet,” he blurted.

            Millhouse raised his eyebrows. “That is a wise statement,” he mused, sounding impressed.

            Jack chuckled. “It damn well better be. I got it from _Thor_.”

* * *

            Millhouse had said it in jest, but on the way back from the hospital, Mark looked thoughtfully at Jack and said, “The doctor could be right.”

            “About what?” Jack asked nervously. His nerves had never been on higher alert; this was the first time he’d driven with Mark since the crash, and if a pigeon so much as pooped on the road in front of him, he was planning on slamming the brakes through the floor.

            “About the miracle of love, or whatever.”

            Against his better judgment, Jack cut a quick, disbelieving glance at Mark. “You’re kidding, right? He didn’t mean it.”

            “I know he didn’t, but think about it. My vision was completely _gone_ until yesterday. Then I kissed you, and suddenly I can see you as if I was never blind at all.”

            Jack smiled. “Well…it does _sound_ romantic,” he pondered. “I sure hope I look good, then, if I’m the only thing you can see, heh heh.”

            Mark’s eyes softened, and he grinned like a fool. “Jack, you’re the most absolutely _captivating_ thing I’ve ever seen.”

            Jack reddened from head to toe, and he coughed to avoid gushing his heart out onto the steering wheel.

            “Aww, did I fluster you?”

            “Damn you and your specific eyesight.”

            “It’s hard to miss anything when you’re all I can see.” Mark leaned forward flirtatiously, and his hand found Jack’s thigh, making the other man shiver. “You know…if kissing you was able to bring back a little bit of my eyesight, I wonder what doing a little bit more would do….” His fingers flexed, and Jack couldn’t help twitching.

            “Jesus _Christ_ , Mark, you’re making it _very_ hard not to crash this fucking rental!”

* * *

            The next time Mark’s vision improved, Jack was shirtless underneath him.

            What they had been doing leading up to that point was private, but Mark had closed his eyes only being able to see Jack’s sprawled torso floating in empty space. When he opened them again, it was like someone had widened a camera lens; he could see blurry snippets of the bed around him: the floppy pillows, the rumpled comforter, Jack’s fingers just barely brushing the nightstand next to them while he tried to slow his rapid heartbeat. The space that surrounded Jack within a few inches was suddenly within Mark’s line of sight.

            Mark gasped loudly. “Jack!”

            Jack groaned softly. “C’mon, gimme just a minute…,” he half-chuckled.

            “Oh, shut up, I need like twenty before we can get _that_ going again. Jack, I can see the bed!”

            Jack’s eyes flew open, and he sat up quickly, inching his lower half from underneath Mark. “Wait, what?!”

            “Yeah! I mean, it’s not perfect, but I can see the bed, and the nightstand—the things that are around you, I can see them!”

            “Holy shit!” Tears glistened in Jack’s eyes, and he reached forward, cupped Mark’s cheeks, and kissed him breathlessly. “Holy shit, holy shit! What does this mean?!”

            “I don’t know.” Mark was equally winded, feeling like he’d just run a mile. “I don’t know, but hopefully good things.”

* * *

            “ _Wha-pish_! _Toppa_ the mornin’ to yeh, laddies! _My_ name is Jacksepticeye, and I’m here with the one-and-only Markiplier to share some amazing news with you guys.”

            “ _Hello_ everybody! My name is Markiplier, and _damn_ is it good to see you again.”

            Jack and Mark were smiling stupidly widely for the camera, which was aimed at Mark’s couch because they’d wanted the video to feel more personal. Both were leaning forward eagerly on their knees, and their inner hands were clasped together tightly, as if letting go of each other meant being lost forever.

            “Guys, I am very excited to tell you that my eyesight has been completely restored,” Mark said blissfully, his smile truly an angelic sight to behold. “I literally have not been _more_ excited to tell you guys anything in my life. It’s such a relief to be able to take in the world around me again after spending even so few days in the dark.”

            “We were genuinely scared that this wasn’t gonna be a recoverable injury,” Jack chimed in, the words coming easily now that his and Mark’s hands were fitted together so perfectly. “We honestly still don’t know what made the recovery possible, because he wasn’t on any kind of med—”

            “ _I_ know what made it possible,” Mark interjected, beaming. Jack rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

            “Mark, I know what you’re gonna say, and it _isn’t_ —”

            “Jack did it. I owe it all to him.” Mark squeezed his hand and grinned like the proud, geeky boyfriend he was. “When my eyesight came back, all I could see was him, and then it expanded out from there.”

            “C’mon, Mark, you’re being really cheesy.”

            “It’s true, though! I’m not lying!” Mark’s smile widened more than Jack thought possible. “You brought me back into the world.”

            Jack groaned loudly to hide how incredibly flattered he was. “Come _on_ , you’re so crazy,” he giggled, looking away shyly. “That’s impossible anyway; it doesn’t make any sense—”

            “I know, but who cares? It’s true.” He faced the camera. “Guys, I’m serious. When my eyesight came back, all I could see was Jack—”

            “ _Maaark_ , this sounds like a bad movie plot!”

            “—and after that, I started being able to see objects around Jack’s close vicinity, and—”

            “Seriously, you—”

            Mark clapped a hand over Jack’s mouth and continued like he wasn’t there. “—then I started being able to see entire locations, but my vision was still blurry, and then it sharpened up, and now I can see everything, but Jack was the first thing I could see out of— _owwwww_! Why the hell would you do that?!” Mark was both laughing hysterically and wincing in pain as he cradled the palm that Jack had bitten.

            Jack wiped his chin and laughed. “You shouldn’t have covered my mouth!” he countered impishly.

            “Oh, you dick,” Mark sighed, beaming. He wiped his hand on his jeans. “I’m leaving all of that in now.”

            “ _Noooo_ , you can’t!”

            “Yup, I am, just to piss you off.” Mark leaned in laughing and smooched Jack on the cheek despite his giggly protests. He turned to face the camera. “Anyway, that’s my announcement. I have made a full recovery and I plan on returning to YouTube to make regular videos sometime next week as soon as I have everything prepared. Thank you all _so_ much for watching, and I will see you in the next video. Buh bye!” He elbowed his boyfriend teasingly. “Say bye to the people, Jack.”

            Jack laughed. “Fine, buh bye!” He waved overenthusiastically until Mark got up and shut the camera off.

            “That’ll go up tonight,” Mark stated. He turned and grinned at Jack. “And I’m serious, I’m leaving all that in. It’ll be totally uncut.”

            “You can’t do that, no!” Jack chortled. “I look like a dumbass!”

            “What, and you think editing’s gonna fix that?”

            “Shut up!” Jack stood up and stretched, closing his eyes, and was startled when Mark grabbed him around the waist. “Hey now….”

            Mark looked at him genuinely, a small, grateful smile on his face.

            “I know you said that you felt like the crash was all your fault,” he murmured, his deeply sensual voice sending tingles up Jack’s spine, “and I know you said you felt like you didn’t deserve my forgiveness.”

            Jack gulped, struggling to think straight. “I…well, honestly, I still don’t,” he stammered, not really believing that himself anymore.

            “But that’s not _true_ ,” Mark urged, tightening his grip (and subsequently loosening Jack’s ability to speak in full sentences). “It’s not, because you didn’t take everything away from me. You brought it all back, too.”

            “Come on, Mark, I didn’t do anything. There’s a better explanation for what hap—”

            Mark’s hard, urgent kiss shattered whatever coherent thought Jack had been forming.

            “I know what happened,” he countered, his breath tickling Jack’s throat. “You did it, Jack. You saved me. I won’t believe anything else for as long as I live.”

            Jack looked up slowly, and he was lovingly greeted by Mark’s clear, soft, deep brown eyes, the eyes that he had been so enamored with on the night of the crash—the eyes that he had loved, the eyes that he had ruined, and the eyes that he had (supposedly) repaired.

            Jack gulped, and he felt himself grin despite himself.

            “Well, then…I’ll believe it too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHH, THIS FIC WAS SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE!!! This is probably my favorite fic that I've written, but hey, it makes sense that I should get better with practice.
> 
> I'd like to give a HUGE thank you to everyone who supported me and left such sweet comments and feedback on every chapter while this fic was in the works. Seriously, you guys are SO awesome. Reading your comments is the best part of writing this, because without you guys here to read and enjoy what I create, I'm basically just talking to myself.
> 
> And for those of you who have been asking...
> 
> YES, I PLAN ON WRITING A SEQUEL TO THE LUCKY CHARMS FIC! I just haven't worked out the plot, but really, IT IS COMING!!!! I PROMISE!!!!
> 
> As always, constructive criticism is appreciated, just be polite when you give it.
> 
> And with that, I'm out. Thanks again for being here. :*


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